Mad World
by ArwenJaneLilyLyra
Summary: Sirius sits in his cell in Azkaban, contemplating his guilt, and mourning for his best friend. A songfic based on the song by Gary Jules of the same title.


Mad World

_Based on the song Mad World by Gary Jules – A story of Sirius Black, in his cell in Azkaban._

_All around me are familiar faces_

He sits alone in his cell. Everywhere he sees them. He can't escape his own head; his own pain; his own grief. Just hazy images swirling around as he shrinks from those he once embraced. He has known them so long, and yet they believe he could so easily turn on those he loved. Was he not clearly a brother to _him_?

_Worn out places, worn out faces_

Godric's Hollow, a beautiful village – cozy, everyone knew everyone, muggles and wizards alike (though muggles of course, were ignorant) and a place with rules and regulations to live by. The opposite of what _he_ had always said he'd live in. Very different to the Potter mansion _he_ had grown up in.

Remus' cold face as he stood outside the cell, looking down on the filth that had betrayed his friends. James dead. Dumbledore watching, not even trying to help him. James dead. Peter's terrified face before he transformed. James dead. His brother the last time before he disappeared, he was so distant and cold. James dead. Lily's face, still warm in death, tear tracks spoiling her cheeks. James dead.

_Bright and early for their daily races_

And then they merge – they were young once more for a few merciful seconds. Young and carefree and had nought to worry about but homework and whose detention was next. _His _grinning face, _her_ smiling laugh. Remus looking nervous as he entered the compartment, slowly opening up to them. Peter's small frettish laugh until he grew comfortable enough to be himself.

_Going nowhere, going nowhere_

But Peter wasn't a kid anymore; he was twenty-four years old, a traitor, a Death Eater – he wasn't a Marauder anymore. Remus wasn't a kid anymore; he was a twenty-four year old werewolf who had next to no-one, believing that all his friends were either dead or Death Eaters. And James and Lily – they were no longer kids, but they weren't twenty-four years old. They would remain twenty-one forever.

_Their tears are filling up their glasses_

His eyes burn as he thinks of them. So many tears have fallen, but he can't stop, not when he is surrounded by this pain, this despair, this grief. All he can do is cry for them; mourn for those he could not save.

_No expression, no expression_

James' face. It had never been without a smile. Not until those last few years, when no-one smiled. James tried to be light-hearted; he tried to keep _everyone_ happy, just like he trusted _everyone_. But in death, it wasn't just without a smile, it was expressionless. Only his blank hazel eyes revealed his pain. There were no tears, no terror or fear in his face; he had known he was going to die, had accepted it.

_Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrows_

The man curls up, wrapping his arms around his head as he tries to block it all out. But when the images are in your head, shielding your eyes will do no good. They are still raging before you, the Dementors forcing upon you the memories you most wish to forget, you relive it all.

_No tomorrow, no tomorrow_

Time has no meaning. A life sentence – every year for the rest of his life was just one big _today_. It would drag out the span of a lifetime. Or for as long as death hid itself from him. He wished it wouldn't. Could he not just die? No-one could understand how much he wanted to join his best friend in that moment as he lay in the corner of the room, whispering to himself in vain attempts of comfort.

_And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad_

He begins to laugh. Even as the tears fall he laughs, the thought of the flirtatious, handsome, arrogant Sirius Black sat in a cell in Azkaban wishing for death – it was enough to make him laugh as he thought of himself. It is a laugh much like the one he gave Peter Pettigrew as he transformed into a Rat the last time they met. The time he had escaped by pure luck.

_The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had_

Why can't he let go of life? There is no such thing as sleep, and rarely is there such a thing as a merciful dream. Dreams are just memories repeated, the same as when you are awake. Except sometimes they are different. Sometimes it includes his wishes. _He_ was in Godric's Hollow that day. _He_ died, not James. _He_ didn't have to deal with this grief. Surely this was Azkaban's insanity settling into his mind?

_I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take_

At first there was disbelief. That's gone now, but for a while, there was blissful disbelief, the imagining that it was all in his head, not real, untrue, fake. It was so much easier was admitting what was before his eyes. And now he can't remove the image from his mind. The truth crashes upon him, it pounds at his head and he _can't_ pretend anymore. They're dead and as that fact is forced upon him, he feels everything else lose meaning.

_When people run in circles_

They hadn't even bothered with a trial. There was that moment of panic when people lock up as many others as possible as they search for someone to blame – someone to point their finger at and say 'it's your fault'. Because there is nothing else they _can_ do. And he happened to be one of the others that day.

_It's a very, very mad world, mad world_

It never made any sense. Was this his punishment? Had he done something unknowingly evil, perhaps in another life, as he had heard some muggles believed? Was he doomed to this fate? Had he condemned James to this when he befriended him? What sense of hope, of love, of honour, of valour of…_anything_ could be gained from the loss of two people, far from ready to die. What could be gained from a young boy becoming an orphan? What lesson was he to learn as he cried over and over again for the man he had loved as a brother for ten years of his life, all too soon ripped away from him by the brutality of a war against an enemy that cared not for family, for friendship, for love.

_Children waiting for the daily feel good_

It all boiled down to James. The Marauders. Becoming Animagi. Joining the Order rather than work. Wormtail's joining of their group. Moony's sanity. Padfoot's happiness. It was all down to James. He never knew the effect he had on people. But Padfoot saw it. He saw the way Evans would watch him all through seventh year. He saw the way Moony would instinctively turn to him for help. He saw the way Peter worshipped him. They were just children, loving life, because it was as good as it was ever going to get.

_Happy birthday, happy birthday_

He always felt like he should have been the sensible one; the leader. Perhaps that was a little stereotypical of him, but it was true. He was the oldest, so he felt like he had to be the one that watched over the others. But it was always Moony that kept them in line, and kept them out of trouble: Well, _too_ much trouble. Eventually he tried to forget about his ideals as the alpha of the pack. He became the older brother of the leader. He watched out for James, who was too naïve to see that not everyone was worthy of the forgiveness he gave too easily. Sirius should have known it was James' trust that would one day get him killed.

_And I feel the way that every child should_

Hogwarts was the place that, rather than grow up and mature, Sirius lived his lost childhood. He was a kid, chasing seven year old dreams as a fourteen year old. Moony understood that. He too, had had his childhood taken from him. Padfoot by his parents; and Moony by Fenrir Greyback. He could run and laugh and joke and play and shout and be himself in Hogwarts. With his friends; with the Marauders.

_Sit and listen, sit and listen_

Of course now it's all gone. He's left with only what little seed of sanity he has left. The voices that play over and over again in his head. Reminding him of what he lost. He curls up tighter in a ball, trying hopelessly to dispel the aching heart that still beats, despite having surely stopped years ago. He lives in the memories he has left, what little precious happiness and joy he can still take from the horrors that the Dementors leave him with. It is all gone. He can't remember now.

_Went to school and I was very nervous,_

The first day he arrived at school. For some reason he has been able to retain this one memory, longer than most. Perhaps because the pain it brings makes it a nightmare, and not a comfort. It was the day he met Prongs, and Moony, and Wormtail, though they would not answer to those names for a long time. He relives it over and over again, clearer than that of a pensieve. It is painful, and twists his gut to recall the way James welcomed Peter so easily, so happily. If only he had known. But Sirius knows not to dwell on such things whenever possible. It does no good to mourn for what cannot be changed.

_No-one knew me, no-one knew me_

The Slytherins all looked at him with respect. The Gryffindors looked down on him. He was a Black, and therefore dirt to some, and gold to others. He hated that. They assumed things they had no idea about. They couldn't know he was different, because they had never thought to ask. He was just Sirius, son of Orion and Walburga, another sure-fire Slytherin Death Eater like his cousins.

_Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson?_

At first he was attentive. For a while he genuinely tried, but his efforts were made difficult by James' distractions and constant chatter. He learnt far more lessons out of the classroom. He learnt about how cruel children could be. He learnt about how his family even had a fair amount of hold over the Hogwarts governors. He learnt how strong a thing called brotherhood is. He learnt that love is not a weakness, as his father ad always told him. He learnt that love was strong. He learnt that friends were the family he chose for himself. But he couldn't rid himself of the memory that it was all gone now.

_Look right through me, look right through_

And now he doesn't exist. Not to himself. Not to the world. Not to his best friend, now dead and gone where he could not reach him. Not to his old friend who thought him to be a traitor. Not to the Godson who probably didn't even know about him. Not to the traitor who thought he was safe from him, somewhere living no doubt as a rat in a hole in the ground. Not to his old teachers, who had sworn he would rise to the top alongside his brother, Prongs. Not to his old Headmaster, who had inducted him into the Order of the Phoenix the moment he left school. Not to one soul. Because in every way that mattered, Sirius Black died on the 31st of October, 1981.

_And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad_

_The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had_

_I find it hard to tell you, I find it to take_

_When people run in circles it's a very, very_

_Mad world, mad world, enlarging your world_

_Mad world_

**Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!**

**Please leave a review with what you think.**

**Love arwenjanelilylyra x**


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